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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29706324">It Was Only A Mountain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celine_Lister/pseuds/Celine_Lister'>Celine_Lister</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gentleman Jack (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Era, F/F, Honeymoon, Mountaineering!Anne, Power Bottom!Ann, Slight Season Two Spoilers, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:13:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29706324</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celine_Lister/pseuds/Celine_Lister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Anne departs on a hiking trip alone, Ann fears that their honeymoon won’t be everything she dreamed--so she takes matters into her own hands.</p><p> </p><p>Based on spoiler photos for season 2.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It Was Only A Mountain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>SPOILER ALERT - this is based entirely on set photos from the currently unreleased second season.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She’s out there - </span>
  <em>
    <span>still. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She is </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> bloody out there. In the snow and the dirt and the ice. Mucking about doing Lord-knows-what. On our - well, it’s meant to be our honeymoon, isn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that anyone knows that, though I suspect Anne’s Aunt Anne might have an idea. When Anne promised to whisk me away, to travel the Continent, I expected something a bit more glamorous than this. Bumpy roads and unfamiliar carriages and that night in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>barn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, of all places. It was romantic and thrilling at the start, but now? I’m rather peeved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just that - oh, Anne </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> what this does to me. She knows what missing her does to me. I know I’m greedy for wanting her with me all the time, but I can’t bear it when we’re parted. Her strong arms wrapped around me last night - that was heaven itself. Waking up this morning to her already clanging about the room, pulling on her boots and testing out her climbing pole, was significantly less divine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not to mention she’s been gone </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Actual, proper hours. Not “I’m-pouting-and-exaggerating” hours. It’s been most of the day. I know that for sure, because I couldn’t go back to sleep once she left me. She’d sat on the edge of the bed - much softer than the lumpy old thing they’d tried to force on us when we first got here - and stroked my hair and smiled. I melted, of course, staring up at her like she was the sun itself. As usual, I was blinded. Blinded by her handsome face and the soft press of her lips to my own. Blinded to the fact that she was going out for the day. My head was still spinning when she got to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When will you be back?” I’d helplessly asked the tail of her greatcoat as she swept out of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been stuck here by myself ever since. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not to mention, it’s boring here. Nothing to do at all. It’s all snowy outside, and I hate being out in the cold. Anne knows this, by the way, but she’s too caught up in her mountaineering glory. Self-centered prick, that’s what she is. Should’ve known that from the moment I met her - certainly from the way she constantly dominates the conversation and takes charge in all situations. It’s always about Anne bloody Lister, isn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, I sink down into the rickety chair by the window (Anne had moved it as soon as we arrived). The onyx ring on my finger catches the light, and I’m suddenly even angrier. We made </span>
  <em>
    <span>vows</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We made a commitment. We took the sacrament together. I’m her wife, and she’s abandoned me for a pile of earth that is slightly higher than the rest of the earth. Is that really so much better than being with me?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as I start crafting a plan for her punishment, the door swings open. It’s my wife, of course, and I almost can’t believe what she looks like. That wide-brimmed hat, a little more rugged than her standard top hat, sits at a rakish angle; her dark hair slips from the flimsy ribbon she’s used to tie it back. How did I miss that she’d worn her hair down this morning? Her thick black scarf is wrapped loosely around her neck and flecked with white snow, as is her worn greatcoat, gaiters, and muddy boots. That plaid cravat - it’s thick, like the scarf, more for warmth than style - is tucked into her “work waistcoat,” the one that always smells like sweat and Shibden soil. Inexplicably, she’s got a belt overtop of that, and her skirt is tied up around her knees. My mouth goes dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where have you been?” I ask, my words hot with anger. I close the distance between us just as she closes the door. I curl my hands in the wool of her scarf. “I thought you’d abandoned me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anne starts to speak, but I cut her off with a searing kiss, pulling her down to my level by the front of her waistcoat. Her hands find my hips, but her lips are tentative. She pulls away and raises an eyebrow, uncertainty coloring her face even as her pupils widen. I unwrap her scarf slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m cross with you, Pony,” I tell her as the scarf drops to the floor, closely followed by her greatcoat. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I?” Anne’s trying to tease me, but her tone betrays her - she’s not sure what to make of me like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going off like that,” I scold, unknotting her cravat. “Leaving me all alone.” The buttons of her waistcoat are ice-cold against my fingertips. “Going off to break your neck on some hill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mount-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be quiet,” I snap as I pull her cravat free and flick open at the button at the base of her throat. Anne makes a small sound of surprise, but I can see her fighting back a smile. “I was so desperately lonely, did you even think of that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fumble over the closure of her skirt - she’s so much better at this than I am - and huff in frustration. She chuckles and loosens it herself, letting the thick, dark fabric fall to the floor. Now this Anne Lister is perhaps the most devastating I’ve ever seen. Her hat still on her head, she’s got her cravat dangling around her neck, her white shirt open and damp with sweat, her waistcoat hanging around her narrow waist; those drawers she wears, they drive me crazy, and she even still has her boots on. Can’t have that, I think, and drop to my knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Getting your new boots filthy,” I mutter, unbuttoning the gaiters and slipping them off. “Might as well throw these out, honestly.” I look up at her as I unlace her boots, something I’ve done a hundred times by now. “Do you never </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Pony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess not,” Anne says slowly as I rise. She steps out of the puddle of her clothes and takes off her hat, pulling me close with one hand and dropping the hat on the dresser with the other. “I am thinking of something right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you?” I breathe, my hands smoothing over her chest and fiddling with her cravat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes,” she husks, her lips just a breath from mine. I lean forward, but she catches my chin between her thumb and forefinger. “Are you cross with me, Adney? Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” I say honestly, cupping her handsome face. “I want to hear all about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s that old insecurity - the one from that night in the bed at Crow Nest and from the hilltop and from years of defying society all alone. I pass my thumb slowly over her proud cheek and nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Dearest.” I know she needs to hear this. “I’m going to scold you properly later, but,” I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of her, “right now I really want you to kiss me.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She grins and kisses me, pulling me impossibly closer. It’s so good to have her arms around me again, her body intertwined with mine, her heart beating against my breast. Impossibly smooth as always, she turns and backs me into the bed; I don’t know how she does it, but she sweeps me off my feet every time we touch. I scramble backwards onto the bed - it’s too much trouble to fuss with my dress. She climbs over me, one sharp knee between mine and her hands on either side of my head. My arms are wrapped around her neck, and I thread my fingers in her hair. Feeling a little daring, I pull the tie loose, and her dark hair falls around us. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Is that alright?” I whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She nods and kisses me again, first on my lips, then on my neck, then on every inch of my exposed chest. A shiver races along my spine as she kisses my fabric-clad stomach and rises up on her knees. One strong hand covers my own, the other rips her cravat free and tosses it behind her. I bite my lip, anticipation coursing through my veins. Anne flips up the skirt of my dress, then descends on my legs. She’s always loved my legs, even from our first connection, and I’ve come to crave the slick slide of her tongue on my calves and the playful nip of her teeth on my thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I did miss you, Adney,” she says as she settles between my legs. “I wished for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I hum softly, more interested in the rush of cool air as she spreads my legs than hearing the details of her hike. Delicate fingertips part the opening of my drawers, and then - oh, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s all I can do to keep quiet. One hand in Anne’s, the other wrapped in her tangled hair, I’m just trying to stay grounded. I can feel myself unraveling already; it’s always fast when she puts that maddening mouth of hers to good use for once. My hips roll into her, but then she’s gone.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>I squeak softly in surprise, and I hear her throaty chuckle. Opening my eyes, a wave of annoyance hits me anew, with an undercurrent of arousal at her rakish confidence. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You taste so good,” she whispers, leaning down to catch my lips. I can’t stop the moan that passes from my mouth to hers; I can only wrap my arms around her broad back and buck my hips into hers. “Needy, Adney?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Please,” I beg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, oh, am I rewarded. My handsome wife slips her long fingers into my drawers, and I jolt at the ecstasy of it. Just before my eyes slip closed, I see her grin proudly. She’s so good at this - I never even knew bodies could </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>this before I met her, and now I’m aching for her nearly every day. So many years of my life spent in the dark, in misunderstanding myself, in sadness and fear, and in just a short time, Anne Lister has brought me into the light.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s it, darling,” she says as she fills me. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Anne,” I choke, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm me. “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She kisses me once more, then presses a bit harder, that perfectly delicious touch that sends me careening into oblivion. I shudder in her arms, lost to the pleasure only my wife brings. I float back to earth, back to the musky scent of her sweat and the rough fabric of her shirt against my clavicle and the soft press of her lips on my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Good Lord,” I sigh, going limp; Anne buries her face in the crook of my neck, and I scratch the back of her head. This moment is even better than the connection - well, maybe not </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span> - it’s just nice, that’s all, to breathe in rhythm with my wife and hold her close and giggle at the audacity of it all. “You’re ridiculous, Pony.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Am I?” Anne sits up, her knees bracketing one of my thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes,” I say as I bite my lip and flick open her drawers. “You’ve been mountain-climbing all day, and you’re not even tired.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You invigorate me,” Anne teases, bringing my knuckles to her lips; this is her silent signal that I can touch her today, that she would rather my hand between her legs than her own. My heart swells. “I couldn’t wait to get back to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Tell me about it,” I dare. My heart races and my hand fumbles; I’m never as good at this as I want to be.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s very snowy out,” Anne says slowly, twisting her hips against my hand until we catch a rhythm. “Quite slick, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Is that right?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Windy too, and - ah,” she closes her eyes, head tipped back as she grinds against my hand. Good Lord, she’s tall, isn’t she? I tug on her shirt, and she cracks one eye open. I tilt my chin back, and she grins before dropping down on top of me and kissing me deeply. My hand falters for a moment, but I find my way again. “We - uh, we - well, it was - erm, steeper - uh, than - than expected.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“But you’re so strong,” I murmur in her ear, pressing a bit more firmly in the way she likes. “Surely it was nothing for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, it was - ah! Yes, it - oh, Adney, ah - it was - um, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Never mind,” I soothe and kiss the underside of her jaw. “I love you, Anne.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She hums, almost a moan, and I know I’ve got her. With just a few more strokes, she’s seizing above me, gasping in my ear, collapsing on top of me. For a long moment we lie just like that, sweaty and panting and happy. Yes, my wife is infuriating sometimes, but mostly she brings me peace unlike any I’ve ever experienced. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Anne hums softly and pulls me to my feet. Slowly, she undresses me down to my chemise; we slip back into bed in just our underclothes. It’s delicious and cozy and just safe enough for our environment. We’re not likely to be disturbed, but the threat is omnipresent. I crawl on top of her and kiss her deeply, rolling my hips against hers as she palms my behind. For a moment, I consider asking her for another kiss. Then she threads her fingers through my hair, teasing out my curls and my bun, until my ridiculous mane falls about my shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re so pretty,” she says, so softly I almost don’t hear her. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Prettier than your mountain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know there was one moment,” Anne says as I curl into her side, “when I forgot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgot what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there was this darling young woman there, blonde braid and all, and I walked behind her for a while. She had a -” Anne clears her throat modestly. “A nice figure. You know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pony,” I warn; I’ve accepted that my wife is a rake, but I’d rather not hear about her ogling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be upset with me, love.” Anne’s fingertips trace over my back. “I thought she was you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” I laugh and raise myself up so I can look at her face; she’s blushing and shaking her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She turned around - this woman - and I - well, I was just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>shocked</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I just - I said, ‘you’re not my -’ and then I caught myself. I walked at the front of the group after that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, dearest,” I laugh and drop back onto her chest. “You would’ve gone home with her if she hadn’t turned around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We laugh for a moment, and then she takes my left hand and kisses my ring finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t have,” she says softly. “It’s only you, Adney. It’s always only you.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!!</p><p>I don’t know about you, but I was... affected... by today’s promo shots. Couldn’t get this idea out of my mind. A good way to honor Ann Walker today, I think. </p><p>Hope you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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